Between Friends
by gammara
Summary: Telaka, who wrote Goodnight Enterprise an incredible read, references a fight between Archer and Trip. This is it. Thanks to Telaka for her permission to write this and publish it! AT'P, TT'P


**Between Friends**

_A/N: There's a great scene (referred to twice) in the awesome Goodnight Enterprise, by Telaka, where Trip and Archer get into a fight. This is the fight. Many thanks to Telaka for creating such an engaging story! And thanks for letting my publish this. I hope she's okay with the finished product!_

It had been a long day. The Kredarans, a race of people like the Tellarites – the kind that found everything objectionable - had requested assistance from Enterprise. Their ship was adrift, with their ruler onboard, and they were light years from their planet. Archer's mission was to take them home.

Within five minutes of their arrival the complaints came in and made a beeline to Archer. The ship was too warm, the lights were too dim, the food was inedible, their bed wasn't soft enough, the ship moved too quickly …. Every single problem made its way to him, and Starfleet ordered him to make the experience better for them. The Kredarans had too much influence in that quadrant and if the ruler of the planet was impressed, the aliens may help the newly formed interspecies alliance … the coalition that Samuels was leading.

So, he and Hoshi spent nearly 24 hours as the ruler's assistant went over every request and asked them in particular detail to cater to their every whim.

Missing a night's sleep and suffering a few skipped meals, wouldn't have normally been a problem, but he hadn't been sleeping well that week. Briefly his mind traveled to the events one week ago.

_As he approached his door, late one night after interrogating an Orion caught – a stowaway with enough explosives on him to blow up Enterprise thrice – he saw something out of the corner of his eye: a figment of his imagination. On further inspection, he saw Trip and a woman. Normally, he would've grumbled and ignored the liaison, but something about this made him peer in the shadows at the two._

_The woman leaned casually against the bulkhead as the engineer kissed her passionately – running his fingers in her hair as if he'd embraced her many times before. And then he heard a voice._

_"Not here," she said. _

T'Pol.

_"I can't get enough of ya," Trip whispered. _

_"What about last night?" T'Pol whispered back. _

_"Can you blame a man for wanting to take you to his cabin every night?" he said. _

_Giving a small laugh at what Archer could only guess was her expression, Trip continued. "Come on. Let's go back to my place." _

_After cajoling her with kisses and more, he heard T'Pol give in. _

_"That sounds … acceptable," she responded. _

_The two walked away, oblivious that anyone saw or heard them._

_Archer's head involuntarily hung to his chest – his brow furrowed and his eyes closed._

_He wasn't dense; the rumors about the two had been flying around since last year. He could pretend they didn't exist though; he'd never spied anything more than the usual banter and bickering between the two. He certainly had never caught them wrapped in each other's arms as if they were in love. Before now, he could lie to himself about whether they'd slept together._

_The moment his door opened so he could slink into his quarters, he heard the comm blare._

_"Bridge to Captain Archer!" _

_His feet fumbled forward across the hall. _

_"Archer here." _

_"Sir, the Orion in Sickbay … he tried to commit suicide. Phlox isn't sure --" _

_"On my way." Archer frowned. They'd never determine whether it was the Syndicate who put him up to this. _

At 1000, most of the halls were deserted – people were either at their workstation or in bed so they could take the late night shift – which meant that Archer had the corridors mostly to himself. As he rounded the corner to the Mess Hall to grab something to quiet his rumbling stomach, he heard two crewmen talking.

"I'm telling ya, they are definitely doing it," said Ensign Alberts. "And I think the captain knows; he's their friend."

Before Ensign Roberts saw the captain appear, he responded with a wisecrack. "I wonder if the captain lets them get it on in Engineering. I bet it turns the Vulcan on to be with electronic parts. Hell probably turns Trip on, too."

"Pardon me?" Archer asked, making his presence known.

Turning white, Roberts and Alberts both stammered simultaneously "nothing."

Archer was about to confront them, but decided to talk with them later; his throbbing head, sleepy eyes and shot nerves precluded him from addressing the issue right away. Instead, he gave them a threatening look and told them in a harsh voice to get back to their post … which both did, scurrying away.

Satisfied, the captain walked into the cafeteria and saddled up to the meal station. After sliding back doors and peering inside, he noted the only thing left was a lukewarm plate of eggs – a plate that had been hot probably 30 minutes ago. Wrapping his weary fingers around it, he headed to a deserted table.

As the first fork full of congealed eggs headed for his mouth, he saw Trip saunter in for a refill on his coffee.

"Hey, Cap'n!" The man beamed a smile, holding up his coffee cup. "Just getting seconds. Late night."

I bet, thought Archer.

The younger man sipped at his mug and headed over to Archer. "Everything going okay with the aliens? I heard they were pretty demanding."

"Yeah. Fine," Archer said abruptly.

"Oh. Well … hey … I wanted to let you know, T'Pol and I won't be at dinner tonight. Early movie: Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I love that one."

When Archer didn't pipe up, the engineer stammered. "Well, you know. I'm just trying to show her the culture. That's all."

"Fine," Archer replied.

"Right. Didn't want to leave you in the lurch," Trip said. "That's all."

Archer didn't respond.

Thumbing the door, he explained. "Gotta get back to Engineering. T'Pol gets kinda cranky if I'm late for our debriefings. Something about humans and punctuality."

Before the engineer could bolt for the door, he heard himself ask a question with menace in his voice. "Wanna tell me what's going on?"

"Huh?" Trip's mouth turned up in a nervous smile. "Nothing. Just heading back to Engineering."

"Really?"

Trip's eyes darted left then right as he swallowed deeply.

"Fraternization is against Starfleet regulations," Archer said.

"Now hold on." The Southerner frowned and crossed his arms as if to put up some resistance. "Did you catch us doing anythin' we shouldn't?"

Archer rolled his eyes. "I heard a couple of crewmen talking about you …."

Trip shook his head. "Sir, with all due respect--"

He sighed loudly. "I saw you, Trip."

Trip hung his head at his chest. "When?"

"About a week ago. It was late at night and you seemed interested in …."

The blonde hung on the balls of his feet.

"You seemed interested in getting her back to your place." His cheek twitched, and he found himself saying a few more words. "For … something that seemed more than just between friends."

"You're asking us to be more discreet, aren't you?" Trip asked. He threw a wink. "Don't worry, Cap'n. I think I can manage to show restraint."

Archer flinched.

"It's just … God, that woman –"

The captain cut him off. "You don't get it, Commander, I'm telling you that dating your superior is against regulations."

The man's jaw dropped and he blinked, as if to test everything said was meant. When the captain remained stone-faced, Trip responded.

"You're kiddin', right?"

He stared back at his second officer, jaw clenched.

Trip's eyebrows peaked near his forehead. "Why are you so caught up on protocol now? You've allowed regulations to be broken before."

The captain shoved the plate back, leaving a pile of mostly uneaten cold eggs.

"This isn't one I'm willing to look the other way on," Archer said.

"Doesn't make any sense." Trip scratched his head. "Three months ago, you and I saw Rogers and Freeman together, kissin' in the movie theatre. Ring a bell?"

Archer remembered the event clearly: he and Trip had been watching _The Day the Earth Stood Still_ when two crewmen in front of them – unaware of the world around them – started kissing. The young man had taken one of her long, red tendrils in between his fingers, mesmerized by her beauty. Staring into each other's eyes, as if they'd kissed many times before, they touched lips.

Trip and Archer had caught the lovers at the same time. Rather than launch into a reprimand, he'd leaned to Trip and made a comment that he couldn't deny their happiness. Giving a lopsided smile, he'd even added, "Everyone deserves love, Trip."

The captain now scowled. "Your point?"

"So, you're saying it's okay for Rogers and Freeman, but it's not okay for me and T'Pol?"

Resolute, eyes fixed on the junior officer, he agreed. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."

Flummoxed, Trip scratched his blonde hair again. "That doesn't make any sense."

"You're my two senior officers."

"Captain, with all due respect, even officers need to …."

Archer blinked, feeling his face flush. "Come on, you're not some hormone-crazed teenager."

"No … it's not about my hormones, but hell … we've been out in space for four years!"

"Yeah, and in those four years you managed to satisfy those _hormones _more than a few times."

A furrow rested between the younger man's eyebrows. "Oh, come on. That's not true!"

Archer wiped his hand over his face, sighed, and then stood – shoulders sagging. "Listen, this conversation is going nowhere. Let's discuss it later. Right now, I'm tired and –"

"No, wait a minute," Trip interrupted. "So, I can't have a relationship with her because I've slept with other women?"

"No. I've already said --"

"Then what's the reason?"

Frowning he clarified it, he finished his thought. "I've _told _you the reason. I've told you the reason several times."

"Tell me again!"

"Regulations."

"I don't believe it. Not from Jonathan Archer."

"Oh come on, Trip. I've known you a long time. You don't really love her."

Trip shook his head. "You got it all wrong. I _do _love her. It's why I want to have a relationship with her."

Archer rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

"You know what? The scary thing is: I think she feels the same. It's why we've been getting close."

Snapping, the comment came out more vitriolic than he'd intended. "She's Vulcan. You don't know how she feels."

"I don't think she'd sleep with me if she didn't feel somethin' deep … deeper than friendship."

Archer's mouth hung open and his heart thundered in his chest.

"Well … that's too bad." Archer's hand skimmed through his hair. "I gave you an order, I expect you to follow it."

He had every intention of punctuating that point by leaving. Instead, he'd made it about ten steps away from the door when he felt Trip's hand reach around his bicep, stopping him.

The engineer stepped a few inches closer, distraught. "I'm not followin' that order. I think it's unfair."

"It's regulations."

"It's unfair."

"I don't care what you think. The rules are the rules."

"I'm not followin' it." The engineer puffed out his chest. "It's not right. It's unfair."

Archer's eyes narrowed. "Want to talk about unfair? _I _don't think it's fair the other professionals onboard Enterprise worked late and focused on the mission to find the Xindi last year, while you and T'Pol--"

"What?" The blonde's lower lip protruded and his deep blue eyes clouded with anger.

"I know it's been going on for some time, Trip."

"Oh, so you don't think I spent enough time frettin' about the Xinid? Hell, I couldn't sleep most nights."

"Well, I'm sure the neuropressure helped." His lip curled as he said it, a sardonic smile.

Trip shook his head and threw his eyes to the floor. "No one wanted to get the Xindi more than me; my sister died, Captain."

Archer's eyes met the ground. "Commander –"

"So, you want me to have the same decorum you?" When he met silence he continued. "Decorum like torturing prisoners and stealing warp coils?"

Exploding a little, he countered that. "I did what I had to! _I _was focused on the mission."

"You're our friend. I don't understand why you can't just be happy for us."

"I'm your captain."

"What's really eatin' you?"

Archer snarled. "I told you what the reason was."

The man's blue eyes blinked slowly. "Is it that we found each other and you haven't found anyone?"

Closing the distance between them, Archer responded. "Don't be so pathetic."

"I know you've had a four-year dry spell."

"That's none of your business!" He visibly rolled his eyes, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. "I told you the reason."

The younger man fumed. "Something's eatin' at you. That's for sure."

"You have your orders." Wiping a hand over his face, he took a deep breath. As he walked a little closer to the door, Trip said something to his back.

"You're in love with her, too. That's it, isn't it?"

Stopping in his tracks, he narrowed his eyes and whipped his head around – turning back toward Trip. "I told you the reason!"

"You tried to tell me before we headed off for the Expanse. Didn't you?"

His chest heaved. "No."

"You're mad that she might be in love with me, too."

He shook his head slightly. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"You're pissed off that she slept with me."

"Shut up."

"So, you're going to punish the two of us because she doesn't want you … because she'll never return your feelings?"

Rage. Explosive thunderous anger tore through his body, making his heart slam against his chest and burn like it was on fire. Balling up his hands until his knuckles were white, he threw a fist at Trip's unsuspecting jaw; it was a right hook – a successful one – and knocked the man off his feet.

"I told you the reason!" Archer found himself yelling.

Looming over, he watched the blood gush from the engineer's mouth satisfyingly, spraying Archer's uniform and hand. He also heard a sound he hadn't expected: a sharp intake of breath from T'Pol, who must've just entered the mess hall. Her face was pale.

Instead of ending the assault there, Archer turned his attention back to his engineer who'd made it to his feet. The two cursed at each other – insults that popped into their brains and lighted onto their tongues without thought. At the end of them, Trip threw a punch to Archer's breadbasket as the captain wheezed. Trip smiled, blood still staining his lips, but Archer's smile grew; he was going to win.

Circling each other, lobbing insults and verbal injuries, Archer flexed and threw his fist at Trip -- this one landing solidly at his nose. Although he didn't hear the bone-crunching snap he was hoping for, the blow was enough to start a red stream down Trip's face. It gave him enormous pleasure, until he heard T'Pol say something and turned to her.

"Captain," she said. Her voice was laden with emotion, and her face was twisted into an expression like terror.

Robbed of his attention and focus, Archer felt another blow to the gut; it was lazy as if Trip's heart wasn't in it.

With all his strength, Archer reared back and jabbed again, crushing his knuckles into Trip's mouth. The gush of blood was more than before, as if the engineer had bitten his tongue. As if to confirm, Trip grabbed at his jaw and moaned incoherently.

"Stop it!" T'Pol said. It was the loudest he'd ever heard the Vulcan yell.

Staring at the blonde – confusion and hurt painted on his face – Archer backed away.

T'Pol rushed to Trip's side as he slid to the ground, blood rushing down his chin and neck, already marking his uniform. Her eyes wandered up at Archer's in fear and disgust. He neither offered to call Dr. Phlox nor apologize for his actions, instead, he kept eyes trained on her, daring any action. Content no one would rebuke him, he spun on his heel and briskly walked out of the mess hall. As he rounded the first corridor he began to take in what he'd done.

The door to his cabin slid back and Porthos greeted him at the door, barking with excitement and hunger until his master turned on the little creature.

"Shut up!"

He kicked his dog bowl and the dish flew uncontrollably into the air, spilling kibble everywhere, and then smacked the little dog's backside. Porthos cowered in a corner, whining quietly.

Changing out of his uniform, the one he'd been wearing for 24 hours, he threw on some clothes and then sat back on the bed. Staring at the back of his hand, still bloody, he felt tears roll down his cheeks and hoped they'd come to a halt. Embarrassed, he threw his eyes on the jeans he'd donned.

When his gaze lifted from his legs, he looked at his pup.

"Porthos?"

The dog couldn't be budged, ignoring his master.

* * *

T'Pol was livid, and it took great effort to stifle the emotion. It was a feeling absolutely foreign to her. She'd have to admit, she'd been mad before – poor decisions that had been made by the Vulcan High Command and occasionally a disagreement with the captain or the engineer. Her ire had been stuffed down and ignored every time through the most simple of Vulcan meditations. But, this went beyond all limits of understanding, which is why she felt it bubble inside of her, threatening to burst.

The captain, in a fury, threw punches at his friend and junior officer, without remorse, without regret … even without an explanation. It was the antithesis of the man she'd come to know; he seemed incapable of such a heinous act. It was unprofessional. Dangerous. Childish. Foolish. And she had every right to haul him down to the brig and keep him there because of it; it was regulations.

In this state, she was more than half-tempted to grab him by the collar and drag him down there herself.

Trip's tongue had nearly been severed. She and Trip refused to tell Phlox what happened or who the culprit was. The fact of the matter was: it was a scandal to everyone involved. Trip and she had been violating regulations; by describing the incident, her reputation and Trip's would be tarnished. The captain, if reported, could face court-martial for his actions. Even if he didn't, his good name would also be soiled. And … there was something else. Despite the circumstances, they were fiercely loyal to the man and couldn't divulge to the doctor that he was the one who'd caused such damage.

Mixed with her anger at Archer, she was also concerned. This wasn't the friend she'd come to know. The man she served under was noble, kind, brave, bold, intelligent and caring. He'd move heaven or hell to help her … to help Trip … to aid anyone under his command. He'd offered his support, bartered his reputation and more just to keep her on Enterprise. His unwavering backing and assistance is something she'd always counted on. And now ….

She tapped her finger against the chime a few times – mostly because he refused to answer. She knew he was there.

"Captain?"

He didn't answer.

"Sir, let me in."

A choked, hoarse voice answered her request. "Not a good time right now, T'Pol."

"Jonathan?" Her hand instinctively reached out to touch the door, and as soon as her fingers felt the cool metal, she withdrew it and straightened.

His silence rang out. Without masking the disapproval in her voice, she explained the problem.

"Commander Tucker is in Sickbay having his tongue melded back together. I would like to know why you did this."

No response. Drawing a deep breath, she persisted.

"I would prefer it if I was not forced to send you to the brig and contact Admiral Forrest."

The comment sparked resentment … enough to respond; that was her intention: to get him talking.

"I'd like to see you try that one, Sub-commander."

The threat was pitiful.

"I hold twice the strength of any man on this ship. Taking you out would not be such a strenuous task."

After a brief silence, he spoke. "And the door?"

She didn't hesitate, staring at the steel contraption before her. "I have tackled a door before."

"Weren't you in Pon Farr then?"

She threw her eyes to the floor, poking up a slender eyebrow.

"That is beyond the point. Open this door and talk to me."

"We're talking now aren't we?"

_Irrational._ She'd seen the captain act irrationally from time-to-time, but she attributed the occasional lunacy to compassion; an emotion that she'd come to admire. That was not the type of irrational behavior she was experiencing from him right now.

Perhaps getting straight to the matter would help both of us.

"What possessed you to take out one of your own senior crew in the mess hall?"

He didn't respond.

"I am going to have to report this."

"You think you have the right to sabotage this mission and my career by reporting _one _mistake?"

Pressing forward, she spoke back to him sternly, but softly. "I will unless I'm given a reason not to. Right now, it appears a clear violation of the regulations … protocol a _captain_ should be expected to follow."

Suddenly the door slid open and he towered over her, his face flushed and his lashes wet. Air sucked into his flaring nostrils and his eyes were wild; she knew right away he was going to erupt.

"T'Pol, I don't give a _damn_ what you do anymore. Whatever floats your boat … whatever makes you happy …. whatever you want to do in your free time – do it! If reporting me for _one _mistake is what it takes, fine. If rolling around in bed with Trip is what you want, do it. I don't care. Just don't drag it in front of the rest of the crew so it ends up waved under my nose by a passing Ensign."

She swallowed and was about to say something, when he continued.

"You mean _nothing _to me."

A frown was taunting her mouth as he shook his head and finished his rant.

"I'm glad _I'm _not Trip."

She titled her head back to stare into his face and he glared into hers. As his chest quickly rose and fell, the two blinked at each other. Just as she saw his eyes become glassy, he jutted his jaw forward.

"Throw me in the brig and report me to Forrest if you need to, but split tongues won't the end of your troubles when I get out. Do you understand?"

Her eyes widened at the idle threat. "Yes, sir."

"Now, get out of my sight!"

Turning on her heels, she marched down the corridor. Through her peripheral vision, she saw him watch her walk away – his shoulders slumped. Rather than lift her gaze or turn back to him, she kept her eyes stubbornly on the floor or in front of her … almost as if to punish him. For some reason, she wouldn't let him reel off an apology, which she knew he'd be tempted to do.

Smashing her thumb against the turbolift button, she chose Sickbay's floor and then folded her arms against her chest still feeling his eyes on her. When the doors shut, she finally looked up at the ceiling to reflect on the idiocy of the moment and the immaturity of her friend.

_He was crying._ She'd known. He'd masked it, but the wet lashes, hoarse voice, light green tint of his eyes – as opposed to the dark hue – were all the evidence she needed to come to the conclusion that he had shed tears. She'd seen him sulk, brood, yell, complain, laugh and a litany of other emotions, including show sadness. But he'd never cried in the four years she'd known him. Not over Sim. Not when he received the news about Earth's attack. Never. At least … not until now.

_He is upset because of his trespasses against Trip. _The two were friends. She'd seen him unreasonably clone the engineer just to save his life. He'd risked his own life, many times, to prevent harm from falling on the man.

_It's why the captain would need to have a reason to harm him … a strong emotion … something so powerful that humans were at its mercy despite all efforts to the contrary. _

The doors slid open and just as she was about to step onto the deck plating, a thought came to her.

_He's in love with me? _

Fraternizing was against regulations, and both she and Trip knew that. Somehow they'd expected when the captain eventually found out that he'd be pleased. Of course, they'd anticipated a verbal chiding from him, but believed he'd smile through each teasing remark and wink when it was over to signify his approval. In the end, they thought he'd encourage them to explore a deeper relationship.

She never would've hypothesized _this _would be his response.

When she made it to Sickbay, Trip was lying back on the biobed. He'd managed to avoid serious damage – the only visible sign of the brawl – a swollen lip.

"We godda talk," Trip said, his tongue numb from the stitches.

A nod was her response.

* * *

Archer lay on his bed. His hot, sweaty body stuck to the sheets and Porthos didn't assume his customary position on his stomach or curled into his side. Instead the dog settled in his bed, afraid to move closer to his master.

That wasn't the only reason Archer wasn't able to sleep. Staring at the ceiling in the dark of the room, the events of the day plagued his mind.

She could toss him in the brig as he awaited – for eons – a court-martial. He'd get busted back to Commander (if not worse) or tossed out of Starfleet and lose any respect he had … even as the "hero of the Expanse." The moniker wasn't important, but the dishonor he'd bring to his surname -- his father's name -- was.

She could end their friendship; and there wasn't right now any reason to maintain it. In all likelihood, she was furious with him – of course in her own Vulcan way. Things between the two would be strenuous for a while; maybe the damage would be irreparable. It'd taken months … maybe even years to develop what they had now. His peevish behavior most likely put an end to it.

All the same, he knew it was only a matter of time that he'd hear from T'Pol. He'd wanted to clear the air anyway, and had spent the better part of the day debating whether he should contact her. His brain worked out an apology … a thousand apologies and the words that would accompany it. But, he was afraid during this request for amends, he'd admit something that he was loath to confess.

Without saying the words, he closed his eyes.

He heard the comm buzz. Throwing off his covers, he ran to the computer to see who it was – even bare-chested as he was.

"Archer."

T'Pol visage came across, her eyes lazily blinking and her lips forming a perfect horizontal line across her face. She wore a light robe – an indication to him that she'd been meditating.

"Captain, after deliberating about the incident. I think -- " She'd contacted him no more than five hours after he told her to get out of his sight.

"I'd like to take a leave of absence," he'd interrupted. Everything with the Kredarans was settled. It made sense to volunteer this; he figured it was self-punishment.

Slanting her eyebrows up, she asked, "For how long?"

"Two weeks."

"Sir …." Her voice sounded apprehensive and she closed her eyes as she spoke. He couldn't make out if it was because she didn't think it was long enough, or because she had reservations about him being gone that long.

"Not enough time?" he asked.

"No, it's not that. I'm concerned --"

Keeping his eyes on his desk that he was leaning against, he cut her off. "Listen, I haven't been sleeping too well lately and I've been under a lot of stress. I know … I know that doesn't excuse my behavior …."

She was quiet. And when he dared to look, her expression was placid.

"I'm … I'm sorry for the way I acted. I had no right," he said.

She remained composed and quiet.

"Well --"

She didn't rescue him either, and instead of giving up, he stammered through occasionally closing his eyes and bowing his head. "Well, I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. I hope you know that."

She was silent.

Finally, his voice hoarse, he asked, "Trip okay?"

An eyebrow poked into the air. "You haven't contacted him?"

"No."

"Perhaps you should."

He was afraid the engineer wouldn't answer. And, maybe he was reticent those harsh words, or new ones that sprang to their minds, might be said again. He wasn't just worried his friendship with T'Pol was over, he was concerned his more than 10-year relationship with the sweet-natured Floridian was gone.

"Maybe … but not right now," Archer said.

After a long pause, she answered his question. "Yes, he's fine."

"Good. That's good." His head nodded and he felt a small amount of relief crawl into his belly.

As he was about to call it a night and tell her she could mention whatever she needed to Starfleet, she spoke up.

"I am not going to contact the admiral."

He held his breath and her lip twitched.

"I believe we should consider this matter closed."

As he was about to bring up more information, including trying to talk through his two closest friends dating and whether it should really be allowed, she spoke.

"I believe Trip should be confined to quarters for a day as well."

He didn't answer and the two hung on, waiting for the other to speak. Archer was almost certain she would prod about how the fight started or why he'd dragged her relationship up.

"I know you didn't intend to cause me distress," she said.

Ducking his head and leaning forward, his voice was soft. "I never would."

"I know."

"Listen about Trip …."

His eyes remained at his desk, dodging a pair of inquisitive brown eyes leveled at him. "Whatever you want to do …."

"Captain–-"

"Whatever you want to do. I was … hasty when I quoted the regulations." Without looking, he bobbed his head. "Good night, T'Pol."

As he was about to end the transmission, he heard her voice again.

"May I … may I ask what you intend to do for two weeks?"

He sighed. With a tenuous voice, he answered. "Get my head together."

His throat tightened and threatened to quit working. Instead of causing a commotion, he produced a smile – which came across sadder than he'd intended – and pressed the button to end their conversation.

Maybe he'd spend the next two weeks in his cabin reading. Whatever he did, he bargained to himself that he wouldn't venture out of his cabin. The suggestion of two weeks off was his voluntary suspension.

_It's what I'd give any crewman. _

As he lay back on his bed, he wondered what would happen with his two senior officers.

* * *

Her cabin was lit like a cathedral – yellow light flickered onto the darkened walls and ceiling, semi-illuminating the room. Less than romantic, it set the room afire with solemnity and occasion. The odor of the room was chamomile and burned wax, smells Trip equated with meditation or neuropressure. The woman in front of him was perfection: the purple catsuit she wore clung to her figure hugging every curve he'd ever appreciated … and luckily got to see in the flesh. It made his lips slope up, despite the fact it hurt his puffed mouth to do so.

As he sat down and she'd Vulcanly fretted over the food in her quarters, the chitchat – which somehow on Enterprise she'd learned to do – concentrated on trivial matters until she brought up the captain. The two were lost in the moment, poking at their food as if they'd lost their appetite.

She said, "He asked how you were."

Trip frowned. "Huh."

He didn't care; not right now anyway.

She ducked her head down and sipped at her water.

"What are you going to do about him?" Trip asked.

"I neglected to record the incident," she said. "After I returned to the Bridge, I … contacted him privately."

"What'd he say?" he asked.

She swallowed deeply. "He … volunteered to take a two week leave of absence."

Trip nodded. His own private punishment, besides the stitches, was also a one-day suspension. It was something he'd easily agreed to. Although the captain threw the first punch, he was working on raising the man's hackles by dragging up his sex life (or lack there of) and his actions in the Expanse.

"I think he's in love with you, T'Pol," he finally came out and said. The statement hung in the air and both avoided each other's eyes.

When she didn't respond, he perched forward.

"What do you think about that?" he asked.

She remained stoic, but something resembling fear squirmed in her eyes.

"He is a friend," she finally admitted. "A close one."

He nodded along as she spoke the words; he knew as much.

Trip said, "I think he's been feeling it on and off. Hard to tell with him; he's not exactly an open book. But, pounding my face in gives me a pretty good indication you mean something to him. Something more than a science officer and first officer."

Her fork lazily stabbed at a piece of lettuce.

"You know I'm right," he whispered.

For the first time in a few minutes, she looked into his eyes. "I don't know."

Leaning back into his chair until the two legs hung suspended in the air, he drawled out a response.

"I'm right," he said.

She raised a wary brow.

"And me?" he asked. A frown had already planted itself on his face. "What do you feel about me?"

"I care about you immensely."

That wasn't the question he'd silently asked.

"T'Pol, I mean … which one?"

Sawing her food in half, she raised the lettuce to her mouth. "There is no choice."

"He put his feelings out there, you gotta make a choice."

"He did not indicate his feelings."

"The hell he didn't. The ten stitches in my tongue say he did."

She shook her head and reiterated her words. "There is no choice."

"Why?"

Her fork left a tinny clank against her plate. "I would prefer to cover other topics." He could see she was about to launch into her Vulcanity, when he stopped her.

"Look, this is kinda weird to me. I know you two have this way of communicatin' …."

"Trip."

The tone of her voice wasn't quite a reprimand, but she didn't want to answer his question; he was sure of that.

"Well, it's true. His feelings are gonna hang over us, unless I know you care about me more."

"I cannot care about one more than another. He is my friend, as are you."

"Thought we were more than friends?" he asked. He leaned forward until his chair rested against the floor.

"We are, however –"

"However?" he asked.

She was about to explain more when he interrupted.

"Which one of us?" he asked, demandingly.

She blinked slowly, folding her hands in her lap and then letting her eyes settle there.

"Which one?" he asked again.

"I have already stated – there is no decision. I care for both of you differently."

"Sounds like you care for him more."

She was silent, but her eyes focused back on him. For a moment, he thought he could read her feelings: confusion, upset, wonder, panic … they were almost painted onto her eyes.

Trip's mouth drew down and he could feel tears welling up in his eyes. "You do love him don't you?"

"No," she responded.

"Then …?"

Furrowing her brow slightly, she shook her head. "There is no choice. Can't I care about both of you differently?"

A drop of water fell down onto his cheek. "I'm not talkin' about friendship. I'm askin' … I'm sayin' I want to be first in your heart, T'Pol."

"Vulcans cannot express feelings –"

"Right. Vulcans …," he quipped.

She furrowed her brow. "Yes, it is what I am."

Standing up, he explained his feelings. "It's an easy 'yes' or 'no' question! You either care more about me or you care more about him!"

Instead of answering, she stared at him as if in a mild form of shock.

"If we're going to stay together ... have a relationship, I need to know I come first."

Bafflement crossed every feature, which is why he yelled, disagreed and cried more. All the while he shouted why she should be in love with him; they'd even made love – at least to him they had. He'd shared his heart; he'd shared everything with her. _Everything._

The sad thing is Trip could tell all of the emotions – Jon's and his – were overwhelming to her. He believed her when she said she "cared" about both of them. But, what she didn't understand is that it wasn't enough.

"I don't think I can do this," he said. Standing up, he threw his napkin onto the table.

She blinked. "I believe you are being impulsive. You're acting rashly."

"There you go again. Impulsive. I am who I am, T'Pol. Human!"

He waited as she continued to gaze at him in confusion.

"It's too bad," he said, shaking his head. With that, he headed out the door.

* * *

One week had passed since the declaration of his self-imposed punishment, and Archer spent a lot that time reading. He'd been able to catch up on a few books he'd brought with him – including a couple of classics.

He'd also had a lot of time to think – really piece everything together. Everything equaled: the fight, his guilt, his anger and his feelings of emptiness now. The answer had been staring him in the face twenty-four hours a day (despite the distraction of books) since his confinement. And it took him by surprise in its simplicity and pain. He loved T'Pol.

It should've been plain when he'd threatened Tolaris after the Vulcan forced himself on her or the time he'd supported T'Pol and ambassador V'Lar when there wasn't any reason. He should've been clued in when he'd worried over her (at that time fatal) Pa'nar Syndrome as he practically begged (at least in his mind) to keep the Vulcan on Enterprise. It also should've donned on him when he tried to talk her out of resigning her commission and staying aboard Enterprise as they headed into the Expanse. And when he'd neglected to line his ship with trellium, even though he understood the danger to the crew, it should've been transparent.

But, it wasn't. Looking back on those events, he realized the twists and turns love lead him down even without him recognizing it. Now that he knew, he could only hope to suppress those feelings. Disregarding these notions was for the best.

He'd figured (almost every day since the confinement) that Trip and T'Pol had continued their relationship anyway, and part of him wanted to. They were his two closest friends, and they deserved happiness. He didn't look forward to seeing their cozy threesome – dinner, discussions and more – transform into a duo, leaving him alone, but ….

Just as he turned the page of his book, he heard a chime at the door. On bare feet, he padded over to the door as Porthos, who'd long forgiven his master, barked with excitement.

The door slid open and Trip gave a light smile. "If Mohammed won't come to the mountain …."

Archer produced a warm grin. "Want to come in?"

"Sure."

"Off duty?"

"Just got off."

"That means I can offer you a drink," Archer said.

The blonde scratched his head and accepted. The captain headed to a small refrigerator with two beers still in it, and held out one to Trip.

"So, what's happening out there?" Archer asked.

Trip gave a light frown. "You haven't talked with T'Pol, since -- ?"

Archer straightened and then looked away. "Not much, no."

Trip nodded. "Listen, I feel bad about what happened."

"You shouldn't feel bad." Jon crinkled his eyes and knotted his brow. "It wasn't really your fault. It was mine."

"Hell, I can't remember whose fault it was."

_I wish I couldn't_, Archer thought. "I'm sorry. I don't know …."

There were a few minutes of uncomfortable silence as they sipped their drinks.

As if a nothing ever happened, Trip shrugged. "Hey, they're playing that movie you like tonight. The one about the androids. Blade Runner."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's on tonight at 2000 hours. You wanna see it?"

Before Archer could reply, Trip smirked. "That is, if the captain will let ya."

"You don't have plans tonight?" He knew it was dangerous territory, but thought it was worth exploring – even at least briefly.

"Nah," the engineer said.

The glance they exchanged revealed everything.

Archer sighed. "I'd like to, but … you know the captain. He's a real hard ass."

Trip smiled. "So I hear."

Archer chuckled. "I bet you do."

The blonde polished off the last of his brew and landed the bottle down on the desk with a thud.

"So you gonna stay cooped up in here for another week?" Trip asked.

"That's the plan."

"Think you're going a little hard on yourself?"

"I don't know. Your stitches out?" Archer asked.

The blonde frowned. "No. But apparently they'll dissolve in a few more days."

"Three more days? No, I don't think I'm being too hard."

Trip sighed. "I could sneak ya a piece of pie tonight."

The captain's food was delivered every night, and for the most part he could have pretty much whatever he wanted. It wasn't about bringing desert; it was the gesture.

"I'd like that."

"Well, all right then." Trip gave him a hearty clap on the shoulder and left.

* * *

Within a month, the three were eating together again. Each managed to wrestle with whatever demons still remained.

For Trip, he'd gaze at T'Pol occasionally, but it never lingered. Before their intimacy, they'd bickered almost constantly. Now, they had a decent working relationship, with disagreements that two coworkers usually have, and a genuine friendship. Everything with the captain was patched up as if neither had hurled obscenities, insults and fists at each other.

T'Pol would catch Trip eying her from time-to-time, but never with regret. And she'd never looked back on the relationship with him with any lament either. Instead, her esteem for him deepened. The moment Trip had left, indicating "it" was over, she'd known it was the right thing to do, but was … pleased their friendship would remain. Things with the captain were virtually back to where they were before the trouble had begun. He treated her exactly the same.

And, Archer was glad to have his friendship with Trip so easily restored. It was a testament to how disarming the engineer was; the guy was remarkable – no grudges, no guilt and no blame. His relationship with T'Pol felt strange. He'd coached himself to ignore her velvety brown eyes, the dark lashes that hung around them and the rich timbre of her quiet voice. Every once in a while, when he could feel the yearning, he remembered striking his friend and the horror on her face. It was enough to stifle the emotion from emerging … at least manifesting itself. Or at least that's what he thought.


End file.
